


"Regrets and Resignations"

by DiNozzos_Probie



Category: NCIS
Genre: Angst, Drama, Family, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-18
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 12:43:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6285007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiNozzos_Probie/pseuds/DiNozzos_Probie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haunted by recent events, Tony is torn between loyalty and running away to save himself.  Can anyone give him a reason to stay?  Is it already too late?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I am back after a much needed break! My silly muse has me pulled in so many directions, but with the news of Michael leaving and the speculation about Tony's exit, the idea for this story refused to get in line and demanded to be written.
> 
> The first couple of chapters will be devoted to getting insight into what our heroes, first Tony then Gibbs, are thinking and feeling with the realization that their friendship may be damaged beyond repair – or is it? Where the story goes from there is anyone's guess! 
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places. I am making no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> No beta, so all mistakes are mine. It's been a while and I'm a bit rusty, so please be kind!

Waking up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night, sometimes screaming, sometimes sobbing was becoming an unpleasant routine. Tony's mind refused to give him respite from the macabre visions that seemed determined to plague him night after night, and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever sleep peacefully again. The combination of long days and sleepless nights were beginning to take their toll, both physically and emotionally.

He would wake shaking and gasping for breath at the same moment during each recurring nightmare; Gibbs lying prone in the middle of the crowded marketplace, his lifeblood spilling out to form a growing puddle in the dust and sand, and Luke standing over him with a smoking gun clutched in his hand. The frames of the film ran in slow motion as Tony watched himself running through the maze of locals only to reach Gibbs' side just in time to see the last flicker of life leave his cobalt blue eyes.

Some nights he would get up, pour a stiff drink, and pace the polished hard-wood floors of his living room or stare out the window at the sprawling city below. Other nights, when surfing through hundreds of satellite channels failed, music served as a suitable distraction. His guitar and piano waited patiently for him, ready to help him finish a few partially-written songs held captive in his head. Losing himself in composition had helped his troubled mind in the past, but lately any catharsis was short-lived as major keys turned minor when despair and fear inevitably crept back in.

On this night, Tony lay awake staring helplessly at the moon-cast shadows dancing across his bedroom ceiling. Even if he dared close his eyes, he knew sleep would never come. That gave him time, too much time, to just lie there and think. Hazarding a glance to his right, the red digital numbers of his alarm clock displayed 12:15.

Tony sighed, his brow furrowing as he reflected on his life's journey and the choices he had made along the way. Right or wrong, wise or unwise, each twist, turn, and fork in the road had brought him to this point.

From Peoria to Philly, he had always been about the job. He ruffled a few feathers and made a few enemies along the way, so his time on each force lasted only a couple of years. Young, cocky, and brash, it wasn't long before he achieved the rank of Detective after landing at the Baltimore PD. Discovering that his once-trusted partner was a dirty cop, and with threats of being outed if he ratted, Tony found himself at a crossroads with no sign post to direct his path. He never found out how Danny came into possession of compromising photographs taken of him with another man in the dark recesses of a gay club, but they served their purpose and bought his silence.

Fortune smiled on him when a certain blue-eyed, silver-haired, Navy cop came into his life and offered him a way out. Leaving the gritty, grimy, dull streets and squad room of Baltimore behind for the fancier trappings of NCIS gave him a whole new sense of purpose, and he jumped at the opportunity without hesitation. He thrived under Gibbs' stern tutelage, and while the two of them were more alike than either of them dared to admit, it was being part of a highly respected team that made him feel complete.

Over the last few years, however, he felt the team's focus shift from crime scene investigation toward more geo-political issues. Between solo assignments as an armed escort and babysitter for the bratty, wayward offspring of top military brass and the team being chosen for every terror cell breaking mission around the globe, he no longer felt like a cop. Somewhere along the blurred lines, he became an expendable pawn in a chess game he no longer wanted to play. Despite having field offices scattered all over the globe, the MCRT had been turned into some sort of de facto anti-terrorism task force. The stakes were higher and the secrets more damning and destructive and he no longer wanted any part of it.

Even in the once friendly confines of the bullpen things had changed, and not for the better. For reasons that remained a complete mystery, McGee had become the chosen one. It was no secret that Vance favored McGee with his computer expertise in a more leadership role over his often unconventional but highly effective methods. Gibbs remained a functional mute on the subject, offering no explanation as to why McGee had taken his place as his trusted right-hand man. Relegated to McGee's former role, chained to his desk pecking away on a computer keyboard instead of being on Gibbs' six where he belonged, left him feeling as useful as a potted plant standing ignored and withering in the corner.

Had Gibbs finally given up and no longer trusted him? Was he willing to sit by while McGee took over his job? Did anyone even want him around anymore? How long was he willing to stand idly by while his team self-destructed? He felt powerless to say or do anything to right the listing ship; his years of experience and loyalty no longer seemed to mean anything to anyone - especially not to Gibbs.

Maybe it was finally time to move on and find a new home where his dedication and experience would be appreciated. He knew that his local options were limited since he couldn't risk sending out resumes or making inquiries into positions with other federal law enforcement agencies without Vance and/or Gibbs getting wind of it. No, he would have to resign, say his good-byes, and make a clean break. No doubt it would be heartbreaking, but it was a matter of survival.

With more than enough funds in his bank accounts, thanks to his untouched annual trust fund distributions and a number of wise investments, he could take off with no particular destination in mind, and have plenty of time to decide his next career move. One thing was for certain; staying at NCIS was no longer an option.

With that morose thought in mind, Tony rolled out of bed with a rueful sigh. The clock now read 12:45.

* * *

Freshly showered and shaved, Tony leaned on the marble vanity and stared at his reflection in the mirror. Prominent dark circles under his eyes gave testimony to sleepless nights. Tiny crinkles he hadn't noticed before adorned the corners of his eyes and the few gray hairs scattered among the auburn at his temples seemed to have appeared overnight. When he had gone from youthful good-looking to a more distinguished ruggedly handsome he couldn't say.

"God, when did we get so old?" he muttered around a frown to his reflection before letting out a heavy sigh. A trip to the salon was definitely in order. "Well, at least we still have our hair," he chuckled tiredly.

He was still in good physical shape for a man his age, but it was getting harder to maintain his athletic physique. Somewhere along the line his six-pack had softened into a four-pack, so he made a mental note to re-up his gym membership. Getting back to lifting weights in addition to his three-mile daily runs would have him backing in fighting trim in no time. Maybe cutting back on pizza and switching to light beer would help, too.

Turning from side to side and flexing for effect, Tony assessed his overall appearance. His arms, legs, and pecs were still muscled and well-toned, and his ass was still as high, firm, and perfectly shaped as it had always been. Giving his reflection a quick once-over and a parting wink, Tony finger combed his hair into place before going in search of clothes.

He dropped his towel into the hamper and pulled on a pair of black boxer briefs from his dresser. Moving to his giant walk-in closet, he switched on the light. All of his tailored suits hung to his right along with his dress shirts and a rack of designer ties. Casual slacks, jeans, and a veritable rainbow of sweaters hung to his left. At the back of the closet, a floor to ceiling rack housed his countless pairs of dress shoes and boots. Several pairs of athletic shoes were neatly lined up on the floor beneath a self that held his sweats and workout gear.

Since it was Friday, Tony turned his back on his suits and opted instead for comfortable casual. He paired a silky soft cranberry mock turtleneck sweater with a pair of dark blue jeans. A pair of dark gray Gucci ankle boots would complete the ensemble. Tony chuckled at his reflection in the full-length mirror affixed to the closet door.

It hadn't escaped his notice that after years of being a walking, talking, everyman advertisement for what passed for high fashion in the men's department at Sears, Gibbs had taken to wearing suits. Some days he added a tie, but more often than not he opted for leaving a few buttons undone. It was a shock at first to see silvery chest hair instead of the ubiquitous white undershirt, but Tony wasn't about to complain.

Gibbs had always balked at wearing suits, insisting that they were strictly for weddings, funerals, and the occasional court appearance. They may have been off the rack suits, but they fit him like a glove. Not only that, the high and tight haircut was growing out and the longer silvery strands threatened to tickle his ears. Tony wasn't quite sure what to make of the drastic change in Gibbs' style, but he had to admit he liked it – a lot.

After a final stop in the bathroom for deodorant and a splash of cologne, Tony grabbed his wallet, badge, phone, Sig, and keys and headed out into the dark of night.

* * *

Absently drumming out a beat on the steering wheel, Tony drove the all-too familiar route to work. Even at 0130, it still took nearly half an hour to drive the six winding miles to the Navy Yard. A number of stark white, brightly lit monuments passed unnoticed on his left as the Potomac River flowed majestically on his right. Munching on a couple of double chocolate donuts and sipping on a steaming cup of hazelnut-flavored coffee, his thoughts again turned to Gibbs.

Whether dressed in his customary Dockers, polo over white undershirt and a sport coat, or worn and stained t-shirts and sweatshirts paired with baggy faded jeans or cargo shorts, depending on the season and suitable only for working in the basement, the man was drop dead sexy. Tony thought it was a damn shame that Gibbs didn't buy better fitting pants. Of course, even a seemingly innocent, off-the-cuff suggestion that Gibbs should buy butt-huggers to showcase his ass would earn him the mother of all head slaps or worse get him fired.

The man's updated wardrobe was but one part of his metamorphosis. He was still as much of a bastard as always, in some ways even more so, yet in some respects he actually seemed to be softening around the edges a little bit. Maybe it was his mortality staring him in the face, or maybe he was just mellowing with age like a cask of fine wine or barrel of top shelf bourbon. Whatever it was, Gibbs was beginning to show a vulnerable side that made him less of a mythical superhuman and just more – human.

Nearly losing Gibbs to The Calling had reawakened something in Tony, something wondrous albeit dangerous. Feelings of love and desire that he had kept locked deep inside rushed to the surface and threatened to overwhelm him. He had always thought that Gibbs was a good-looking man, okay – gorgeous was a more accurate description, but Tony never dared give voice to his assessment for fear of giving himself away.

Any time Gibbs snuck up behind him or crowded his way into his personal space, Tony had to remind himself to breath. The man's steely blues eyes looked right through him with such intensity that Tony had to swallow hard. He became hyper-aware any time Gibbs was in close proximity; usually lurking somewhere just out of view. Over the years, the curious looks, teasing grins and on occasion outright flirting kept a tiny flicker of hope alive. Tony's rational mind knew that his feelings were foolish and would never be reciprocated, but his stubborn heart refused to listen.

He had suspicions that Gibbs knew what he was desperately trying to conceal; after all, the man knew everything. Always the dominant alpha-male, Gibbs seemed to delight in keeping him nervous and on edge. That infuriating half smirk of Gibbs' drove Tony crazy. He often wondered if the object of his desire was just biding him time teasing and testing him, waiting for him to break and confess. Were the head slaps just Gibbs' way of snapping him out of his fantasies, or some kind of sick, twisted foreplay?

Tony smiled at the fond memories of the dozens if not hundreds of swiftly doled out head slaps he had endured over the years. He missed them along with the mischief he caused to earn each and every one. The good old carefree days of hazing McGee, trading insults with Kate, correcting Ziva's English, and doing his level best to impress the unimpressible Gibbs were long gone.

In the wake of the whole Bodnar fiasco, everything had changed. Ziva and her personal demons were gone leaving a dark cloud hanging over the bullpen. Her desk sitting empty again brought back unpleasant memories, from being accused of murdering Rivkin out of jealousy, being turned over to Mossad, thinking Ziva died when the Damocles sank, to being taken captive during the rescue operation in Somalia. The years spent trying to rebuild trust and repair their fractured friendship had apparently all been for nothing.

Gibbs never asked him why he went to Israel to track her down, not that he could explain it himself. In fact, the man rarely spoke to him anymore.

Abby offered the simplest explanation - Gibbs was jealous. When a stunned Tony cornered her and asked her what the hell she was talking about, she answered from her heart.

"Because you never went to Mexico to try and bring him back."

With all of the changes swirling around, Tony needed Gibbs – his friend, mentor, and confidant – now more than ever. His family was fragmented, and he had no one to talk to or confide in anymore. Palmer was the dutiful family man, McGee had Delilah, and even Abby was trying to make a go of things with Bert. Ellie had her own troubles with her pending divorce from Jake, and Ducky, being Gibbs' most trusted confidant, was not an option. Tony was treading deep water with no one to throw him a life line.

He longed for the days where he could show up at Gibbs' house unannounced, sit on the dusty wooden basement steps, drink his rot gut bourbon, and talk about everything or nothing at all. Gibbs' basement was a sanctuary in every sense of the word. Whatever was said or left unsaid in the dusty confessional stayed between them like priest and parishioner, and was rarely, if ever, mentioned again.

Tony just wished Gibbs would open up and talk to him, or at the very least not make a point of shutting him out. Along with a crumbling friendship their work relationship was beyond strained. Bringing Ellie Bishop, the pride of the NSA in, all full of wonder with her sunny disposition and innocent enthusiasm, had been a welcome breath of fresh air, but her addition to the team marked the beginning of the end.

* * *

Then fate or karma stepped in bringing Zoe Keates back into his life. Hesitant at first to rekindle an old flame and dredge up history, he decided to give things a chance. Zoe didn't play games and she understood him better than any other woman he had ever dated. She was tough, smart, funny, sexy, and beautiful; everything he thought he wanted, yet something was missing - passion.

Lord knows he tried, but it just wasn't meant to be. Zoe loved him, or so she professed, but no matter how hard he tried Tony couldn't bring himself to say the words he knew she wanted and needed to hear. They would have been a lie. He liked Zoe and had great affection for her, but his foolish heart belonged to someone else.

For the better part of six months he had played the part of the dutiful, attentive boyfriend, faking his way through romantic dinners, movies, concerts, and long walks in the park. It was easy in the beginning falling back into familiar routines, but the same issues that scuttled their previous relationship were still in play. Zoe demanded more of his time and attention than he could or was willing to give. She wanted her "Spider" back, but Tony wasn't that guy anymore. To put it simply, he had finally grown up.

His extended mission working with Joanna Teague to track down Daniel Budd followed closely by an unexpected reunion with Jeanne had strained their relationship to the breaking point. He didn't bother to ask Zoe if it was just the time apart, or if she wrongly assumed that he and Joanna or he and Jeanne had hooked up. He hadn't, but it didn't really matter. The damage was done; it was over.

* * *

As he pulled into his usual parking space, Tony paused for a moment before cutting the engine. With light in only a few of the double-paned windows, the brick building that once felt like a second home looked ominous instead of welcoming. He climbed out of his car and strode along the winding path to the entrance. The grounds of the Navy Yard, normally teeming with personnel during the day, were eerily quiet. He waved to a security guard making his rounds as he approached the main entrance doors. Once he stepped inside and passed through security, a transformation of sorts took place. Badge on his belt and Sig holstered at his hip, Tony slipped into work mode with his very special agent mask firmly in place.

Without the midday glare from the skylight and only a few desk lamps casting targeted pools of light on the outskirts of the squad room, the bullpen was lifeless save for one lone inhabitant. Tony yawned as he jotted notes in the margins of several pages of the thick case file in front of him and prepared a detailed summary. According to the bank of clocks on the wall, the local time was an ungodly 0345; too early to even call Gibbs with the news that he had likely found the missing piece to their latest case puzzle.

Letting out a tired sigh, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, groaning as several vertebrae in his neck and lower back popped offering relief from being unnaturally hunched over his desk for the last two hours. It was worth the discomfort knowing that he was on the cusp of solving a case that had been threatening to turn cold.

There was something about being able to tune out the rest of the world for a few hours that drew Tony to the office in the middle of the night. In the predawn hours the phones didn't ring, no one was kicking or cursing the nearby copy machine, and he wasn't subjected to the incessant chatter of his teammates. It was in this peaceful solitude that Tony did his best work.

Satisfied that he had likely solved the case, Tony crossed the bullpen and carefully placed the file with his summary clipped to the front in the middle of Gibbs' desk. After a short break to use the head then make a fresh pot of break room coffee, he was back at his desk to work on finishing a series of long overdue letters. He had finally given in and started listening to the whispered voices echoing in his head telling him that it was time for a change. All attempts to silence the nagging voices were futile; they were growing stronger, louder, and more persistent.

Tony felt a pang of sadness as he looked at the empty desks of his teammates. He never felt so adrift and alone in his entire life.

"I'm really gonna miss you guys," he whispered into the shadows.

He retrieved a thumb drive that he kept locked away with all of Gibbs' medals in his bottom drawer and plugged it into the USB port on his keyboard. An alphabetical index of personalized farewell letters all written within the last two months appeared, each file named for its intended recipient.

Gibbs was the only name missing from the list. Tony opened a new Word document and began typing. A bolt of sadness and regret shot through him as his shaky fingers pecked at the keys.

"Dear Jethro..."


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony is gone and now Gibbs if forced to face his mistakes and his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for taking so long to update this story. As a reader, I hate waiting weeks or months for updates! Anyone who follows my fics knows that I rarely go more than a week or two between chapters, but due to a health issue that came up last April, and the ridiculous and unforgivable season finale, I had a tough time finding inspiration to write. But I am back now, and I promise to do a MUCH better job of updating. For those of you who have hung in there, I truly appreciate your patience!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any recognizable characters or places. I am making no money from this, and no copyright infringement is intended.
> 
> This is my take on Tony leaving NCIS. I had hoped to post the entire fic prior to the season finale but, as mentioned above, things didn't quite work out as I had planned. In my Tibbsy world, Tali does not and will not EVER exist! Makes sense, since Tiva has never existed in my Tibbsy world either. Anyway, I intend to keep this to 3 or 4 chapters (yeah, yeah, yeah, I know I've said that before and ended up with 30). Also, if you review please be kind. I'm a bit out of practice and a bit rusty.
> 
> A HUGE thank you to the awesome Cacky for agreeing to beta this for me. Like I said - RUSTY!

Gibbs threw off the blanket and grabbed his throbbing left knee, grimacing through clenched teeth at the sharp pain that had pulled him from a fitful sleep. He was used to the dull ache that had become his constant companion, but the white-hot sensation of a lightning bolt slamming through his reconstructed knee never failed to take his breath away. His idiot doctors called it phantom pain, but it felt pretty damn real!

Switching on the nightstand lamp, he popped the cap off of the bottle of prescription pain pills next to his clock radio with such force the cap skittered across the floor and rolled away, disappearing under the dresser likely never to be seen again. He shook a pill from the bottle and dry-swallowed it. Chasing it down with a shot or two of bourbon would definitely hasten his relief, but Ducky's forceful admonition not to mix alcohol with the strong drug put the kibosh on that idea.

He slumped back against the headboard to ride out the agony as pain-induced beads of sweat on his forehead formed small rivulets that disappeared into the silvery hair at his temples. Cursing under his breath, Gibbs ran a hand down his face. In hindsight, maybe taking off at a dead run and tackling a suspect half his age and twice his size hadn't been such a great idea.

Ellie had been the first to chastise him for being a stubborn fool, followed by Ducky armed with a stern lecture and a long-winded story, which served as nothing more than additional punishment. From Vance on down it seemed as though everyone knew what was best for him. He had somewhat graciously accepted the endless fruit basket offerings, even if accepting meant that a few of them ended up going straight into the trash.

Gibbs knew his behavior was foolish, bordering on petulant and childish, but the slightest show of concern at his well-being caused him to lash out in anger. Pity was the last thing he needed or wanted. It was if all eyes were on him, assessing, judging, and looking for any sign of weakness to exploit. It was too much for his fragile ego. Somewhere along the line, his anger had become targeted primarily at Tony. Why, in all honesty, he really couldn't say.

He wanted to kick himself for bolting when Tony had asked him if they needed to talk. More than being his usual bastard self in his response, he had been a complete ass. The hurt in Tony's eyes still haunted him all these months later. Yes, by God, they needed to talk. Gibbs wanted to talk, but still feeling raw and vulnerable he couldn't risk letting his guard down. In the end it didn't matter; by act or omission he had driven Tony away.

Tony had shown up on a Sunday afternoon knowing that Vance would be in MTAC to participate in an inter-agency video conference. After hand-delivering his letter of resignation to Vance, Tony boxed up all of his personal effects from the bullpen, then vanished without a trace. Showing up in the bullpen Monday morning, Gibbs knew in his gut that something was terribly wrong. Vance waited until McGee and Bishop arrived to call the team up to his office to confirm that, at least for the time being, the MCRT would be down a man.

Tony's desk still sat empty, and would likely remain unoccupied for an indeterminate amount of time. His agency-issued cell phone, Sig, badge, and credentials were locked away in Gibbs' desk, with the hope that their rightful owner would return. Gibbs was in no hurry to replace his irreplaceable SFA. He refused to even look at the stack of personnel files collecting dust on the credenza. Vance's repeated threat to promote McGee to SFA and bring in a new member for the MCRT over Gibbs' forceful objection were met with a narrow-eyed glare and threat to retire on the spot. It was a battle of wills that Gibbs had every intention of winning, and with Tim and Ellie backing him up victory was assured.

It wasn't lost on Gibbs that Tony's sudden departure was due in large part to his well-intentioned but misplaced attempts to push him out of the safety and security of the nest. With his unmatched skills and over a decade of extraordinary service, Tony should have been years into leading his own team, or better yet living a successful life outside of NCIS with a gorgeous wife on his arm and a passel of little DiNozzos running around.

After suffering through a decade-long parade of leggy bottle blondes and tall chesty brunettes, Gibbs thought that Tony had finally found his true love when the beautiful but diminutive Zoe Keates arrived on the scene. Feisty and tough, she was a good foil for Tony. They were a striking pair and were by all outward appearances a happy couple. Tony turning nervous and bashful anytime she was around was, in Gibbs' estimation, a sure sign that Tony was smitten, if not actually in love with her. Gibbs wouldn't discover until it was too late that it had all been an Oscar-worthy act on Tony's part, played out for his benefit.

Gibbs sighed and glanced at the digital clock to his right, and was surprised to find that 20 minutes had elapsed while he had been lost in thought. Losing small blocks of time thinking about and worrying about Tony was not a new phenomenon, but it seemed to be happening more frequently.

It would still be an hour or so before Gibbs' internal clock would wake him, but his bladder had a schedule of its own. With a groan, he gingerly levered himself out of bed. Thanks to modern chemistry, the pain in his knee had subsided enough to hold his full weight with no trouble. Jackson's cane leaned against the wall next to the bed waiting patiently to be of service if called upon. Out of habit more than necessity, Gibbs grabbed the smooth, worn, crooked handle and shuffled the short distance to the bathroom.

Despite the pre-dawn hour, there was no sense even trying to go back to sleep. Due to deeply ingrained Marine training, or having chores to do before school when he was a kid, once he was up and about it was time to start the day. Gibbs stripped out of his boxer shorts and t-shirt and stepped into the shower, turning the faucet to an almost painfully hot setting.

Standing under the steamy spray, he stared down at his feet and let the pulsing water pound the tension from his neck and shoulders. After several minutes he reached for the bar of Dial soap, and just as he began to lather his chest an unexpected wave of sadness washed over him. Gibbs closed his eyes and stood under the torrent while his scattered emotions waged war with each other. The sadness gave way to anger. Anger gave way to fear. Fear led to a feeling of hopeless desperation. Desperation gave way to regret.

The rueful sob that escaped without permission gave testament to the profound sorrow that had taken him completely by surprise. Gibbs never paid much attention to feelings and the silly responses they triggered, but he could no longer deny his own. The long hot shower that had served to relieve his physical aches and pains had done nothing to ease the ache lodged deep in his heart. He bowed his head and allowed a few tears to fall amid the cascading water.

Gibbs knew he couldn't go on living in denial and just going through the motions anymore. His days were routine, fueled by too much coffee and a less than ideal diet. Get up before the sun, shower, shave, get dressed, go to work too early and stay too late, then home to eat unhealthy takeout, if he bothered to eat anything at all, and drink too much bourbon. His life felt colder, emptier, and lonelier. Even woodworking, the one escape that had always kept him grounded and brought him joy, no longer filled the void.

Missing was the indefatigable spirit of the one person who meant more to him than he had been willing to admit. Tony was gone and he had no one to blame but himself, and the more Gibbs tried to ignore his much deeper than platonic feelings for Tony, the more Tony haunted his thoughts. He could no longer deny the truth. He, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, was in love with one Anthony D. DiNozzo, Jr. God help him; help them both!

It was Dr. Taft, of all people, who had forced him to face his true feelings for Tony. Gibbs snorted at the memory of their last conversation.

_Cyril had shown up with a six pack of some fancy-labeled, crappy-tasting beer that Gibbs had never heard of and proceeded to unleash an emotional ambush that left him reeling. The quick Q and A about how he was feeling suddenly morphed into an unsolicited assessment of his love life and conflicted feelings for "a certain good-looking colleague, who shall remain nameless"._

_"Aww shit, here we go," Gibbs thought. He leveled an icy glare at Cyril that had absolutely no effect._

_"Yes, Gibbs, feelings. I'm sure you've heard of them? I know you must hate them, but...," Cyril snarked in his nasally voice, adding a dramatic shrug for effect._

_It was bad enough that his self-appointed keeper insisted on checking up on him at regular intervals; sometimes calling, sometimes showing up in the bullpen as if he just happened to be in the neighborhood and thought he'd stop by for a friendly chat. Cyril Taft had become a major pain in the ass and what remained of Gibbs' patience was being severely tested. The good doctor had both the temerity and tenacity to show up at his house unannounced and uninvited to give him grief about his diet, his sleep, or the lack thereof, to take his emotional temperature, and generally nag him more mercilessly than all of his ex-wives combined._

_The man seemed determined to get inside his head and make him talk, and the more Gibbs tried to deflect the more Taft twisted the screws; sarcasm and self-deprecating humor being his most effective weapons. Even when Gibbs finally relented and offered up a rare but savory tidbit about his life, Taft unrelentingly pushed for more. It was a miracle that the two stubborn men never came to blows._

_Gibbs had to give the man credit for having the nerve to stand up to him. It was a trait few people possessed. It took Cyril nagging him within an inch of his life to force Gibbs to face the truth. He not only wanted Tony back in his life, he needed him, on the job, on his six, as his friend, and as his lover._

_The bowed head to hide the crimson rising on Gibbs' cheeks confirmed Cyril's theory._

_"Uh huh, thought so," Taft said with a nod and a smirk. "Night, Gibbs."_

_With that, Cyril trotted up the stairs leaving a stunned Gibbs standing in the middle of his basement, mouth agape as he attempted to process what had just transpired._

_"That son-of-a-bitch," Gibbs muttered to himself._

_Unfortunately, by the time Gibbs managed to summon up the courage to seek Ducky's counsel and advice on the matter Tony was gone._

The water taking on a decided chill pulled Gibbs from his ruminations. He lathered up and rinsed quickly, and at that moment he made a decision. He turned off the water and made short work of drying off then tying the towel around his waist. The involuntary tears he had shed fueled a determination to set things right. He would do whatever it took to find Tony and get him back; to get him to come home. It might take a Herculean effort, but Tony was worth it. Teeth brushed, deodorant and Old Spice applied, Gibbs looked at his reflection as he put on his watch and scowled disapprovingly. Damn, he really needed a haircut!

Staring into the closet, Gibbs lips curled into a smirk. He pushed half a dozen suits to the side and pulled a pair of Dockers, a dark blue polo shirt, and a charcoal gray sports coat from their hangers. No more hiding behind overpriced suits like they were made of armor instead of wool-blended fabric.

Gibbs tossed his wardrobe selections onto the bed and snatched a pair of boxer shorts and a white undershirt from the dresser. He dressed quickly then made the bed with Marine efficiency. After pulling on a pair of thick wool socks, running a belt through the loops of his Dockers, and tying his worn but comfortable boots, Gibbs stood and took a long look at the dresser's mirror.

"That's more like it," he muttered to himself with a satisfied nod to his reflection. The "old Gibbs" was back.

* * *

While the dark liquid dripped into the carafe, Gibbs opened the cupboard. A strong cup of home brew before heading to the diner for a quick breakfast was in order. He pushed aside the random assortment of small coffee cups he had amassed over the years and pulled out a large mug from the back. A crooked grin broke out on his lips as he ran the pad of this thumb over the quote embossed on it - "There's A Good Chance This Isn't Coffee".

The mug, along with a one-pound bag of ground Jamaican blend premium coffee, had been a birthday gift from Tony two years ago. After his first taste of the rich gourmet brew he never looked back; that Jamaican blend dark roast was still his drug of choice, to hell with the cost.

Gibbs' smile faded as he sat the mug on the counter and filled it nearly to the brim. The distinct aroma wafting up with the steam deepened his frown even further.

"Ah, dammit Tony," Gibbs muttered before bringing the steaming mug to his lips.

After a few sips, Gibbs headed to the living room to retrieve his Sig from the locked safe on the bookcase. Switching on the lamp in the corner, a stapled bundle of papers peeking out from beneath a growing stack of newspapers on the coffee table caught his eye. With a sigh he abandoned the safe and took a seat on the couch. He absently drank his coffee and stared at the bound pages, contemplating them for a moment before setting his mug down and pulling them out from beneath the pile.

He'd lost count of number of times he'd read Tony's "Dear Jethro" letter since finding the nondescript manila envelope lying on the front seat of his Challenger. Each time brought forth a new revelation and a new regret. Words swam in a dizzying array, some randomly jumping off the page ("trust", "family", and "love") taunting him, mocking him, hurting him.

Gibbs knew he wasn't the only one affected by Tony's sudden departure. Those closest to him, the people Tony considered family - Tim, Abby, and Ellie, the younger, pesky siblings, Palmer the awkward cousin, and even Ducky the wisest and most learned grandfather - were all struggling in their own way.

Crime scene processing had become clinical, each procedure executed by rote. Ellie and Tim performed their assigned tasks with the same expert care and efficiency, and their case reports were concise with all relevant evidence indexed, but it was clearly evident that the heart and soul of their little band of misfits was missing. Tony wasn't there to offer his experience and guidance or run interference to counter Gibbs' often surly moods, either in the field or back in the bullpen when tensions were usually at their highest.

Abby was inconsolable. The ear-splitting noise that once passed for music had been replaced with more somber musical stylings. Some days the lab was almost silent, save for the whirring of Abby's babies as they soullessly went about their assigned tasks. She had never been one to handle change with much grace, but Tony's all too sudden departure from her life threw her into a tailspin. Her effervescent personality and the youthful exuberance to which everyone had become so accustomed had been replaced with a cool detachment void of any genuine affection. She would never dare say it, but it was clear from her curt tone and sullen demeanor that she blamed Gibbs for Tony leaving.

Ducky was angry - at Vance for once again using Tony as a pawn in some twisted attempt to assert his authority, at Gibbs for being a right bastard and driving away the one person who made him whole, and even at Tony for running away.

Oddly, Palmer was the pragmatic one of the group. After two weeks, he had grown tired of listening to McGee and Ellie complain about how Tony leaving meant more work for them, and Abby refusal to see past her own sorrow. Approaching the forensics lab, Gibbs heard a normally mild-mannered Palmer lash out at the trio.

"You know, you three might want to stop thinking about yourselves for a change and for once consider Tony's feelings. You don't know where he is or even why he left, because all you can think about is how him being gone effects you. Do you think it was easy for him to just pack up and leave without even saying goodbye? He must have been really hurting, but do any of you even care?"

Palmer stormed out of the lab and nearly collided with Gibbs. The young ME's assistant stood his ground earning a nod of approval for his staunch defense of his friend.

With the likely exception of Human Resources, Tony was missed by pretty much everyone in the building. With this youthful good looks, infectious smile, and wicked sense of humor, he was quite popular among his colleagues and co-workers. The coffee club made up of 40-something and 50-something women from various departments would no longer be on the receiving end of Tony's easy, flirtatious charm. He could lay it on pretty thick and have any number of women positively swooning in the break room in the time it took him to refill his coffee. Having lost their last three games, the intramural basketball team Tony played on was most definitely missing their point guard!

Tony had made it crystal clear that he needed time to figure things out and get his life in some semblance of order, and that only with a clean break could he find any answers or direction. The dog-eared, detailed missive now grasped in Gibbs' hand was testament to that.

_**Dear Jethro,** _

_**God, where to start? I guess I have to start by breaking a cardinal rule to apologize. I'm sorry for not being man enough to face you and say what I need to say to you in person. I'm sorry I let you down by being a coward and walking out. I owe you an explanation, and maybe someday I can give you one. Right now I'm so confused that I can't make sense of anything.** _

_**I mean seriously, that Mossad bitch trying to pass off some other guy's kid as mine? I didn't need to take the DNA test to know she wasn't my kid. I admit I may have had some mixed up feelings for Ziva over the years, but I swear to you I never slept with her. I know you don't believe me, but it's the God's honest truth. She was my partner and sometimes my friend, I guess, but that's it. Think about it, Gibbs. First she accused me of murder and turned me over to Mossad, and then she told a pack of lies that got her own father and Jackie Vance killed! After that she even conned McGee - all of us really - into hunting down an innocent man so she could get her revenge. Kind of hard to trust her after that, don't you think?** _

_**As you've probably heard by now, Vance offered me what he called a chance of a lifetime – an undercover op totally off the books. You know what that means, right? Having to keep secrets from you and going in without backup. Another Director wanting my help with a personal vendetta? No thank you! I didn't stick around long enough to get the details, but let's just say I'm not about to put my ass on the line for Vance, who, by the way, has made it pretty clear that he hates my guts. My reward for a job well done would have been a promotion and relocation to Pearl Harbor or Rota, my choice, that is assuming I didn't get myself killed. Thanks, but I'll pass.** _

_**Hell Gibbs, I know danger is part of the job, but I'm not about to go looking for it. Between being an escort and babysitter and chasing down terrorists all over the damn planet, I'm done. I loved being a cop and I was damn good at it, too. I didn't sign up for all of this other crap. I can't stand the politics and I'm done playing the games. So, I told the toothpick to shove his offer. Are you proud of me?** _

Gibbs snorted. Hell yes, he was proud. Why Leon Vance seemed to hate or distrust one of the best and most dedicated agents that NCIS had ever seen was a complete mystery. There was nothing in Tony's file that Vance could possibly hold against him. On the contrary, it was chock full of commendations from him, two former NCIS Directors, three Secretaries of the Navy, and one President.

Flipping the page, Gibbs steeled himself for the letter's dramatic change in tone.

_**I'm so confused, Gibbs. Right now I only know one thing - I miss you. I miss everyone, of course, but you most of all. Actually I have for a while. I wish I knew what I did to make you stop trusting me or even liking me. Everyone says you don't blame me for not having your six and stopping Luke. I'm not so sure. If I could have traded places with you, I would have. I hope you know that. I've never been so scared in my entire life. I still have nightmares, you know. I sometimes wake up screaming seeing you laying there bleeding. I thought I lost you, Jethro, and I don't think I can handle that.** _

_**I don't know if you realize it or not, but you mean a lot to me. You always have, but it's different now. I've been feeling things I have to right to feel, and I don't know what to do about it. I'm sitting here scared to death as I type this, but what the hell. By the time you read this, if you read it, I'll be far enough away that you can't shoot me or head slap me into next week. Okay, then, here goes nothing - I love you. There, I said it and I mean it.** _

_**Okay, I know you're straight, hello, married four times, so don't think I ever expected anything. Hell, I'm not gay either! Jesus, Gibbs, now you see why I'm so confused? I have no idea where this is coming from or why now. This is a big part of why I had to leave. Nothing makes sense anymore! Years of friendship and now I suddenly have "feelings" for you?** _

_**The last couple of years have been really tough. First my dad starts showing up all the time trying to weasel his way into my life. Usually when he needs money. The whole Bodnar fiasco. Ziva leaves and enter little Ellie Bishop. Then Jeanne shows up out of the blue, and that brought back a whole bunch of fucked up memories. I get past that, and then here comes my old partner, Zoe. I knew it wouldn't work out with her. We had too much history. But you know what's really weird? It seemed that the more my past came back to haunt me, the more you pushed me away. Why, Gibbs?** _

Knowing the letter was about to take on an even more accusatory tone, Gibbs tossed it onto the coffee table and fell back against the butter soft leather of his new sofa. Staring up at the ceiling, Gibbs considered his few options. He could wait and hope that Tony came home of his own volition, or he could burn up some accrued vacation to hunt him down and drag him home. The only problem with the second option was that he had no clue where to start looking.

"Where the hell are you, DiNozzo?" Gibbs asked the shadows on the ceiling.

As if in answer to the question, his phone rang. The ring tone assigned to the early morning caller was the theme from "Dragnet". Gibbs knew it was Fornell before he even flipped his phone open to reveal the caller ID. Tony had gotten bored during an overnight stakeout and paired personalized ring tones to all of his contacts. The "Super Mario Brothers" video game theme was assigned to McGee. Ducky's was appropriately a duck call, and Vance's was the ominous opening theme to "Jaws". The only one that Gibbs found truly annoying was Abby's. Tony had somehow managed to record her excitedly calling out, "Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs". Not surprisingly, Tony had assigned himself the "James Bond Theme".

"Yeah, Gibbs."

"And a good morning to you, too," teased Fornell with sarcastic cheer.

Rubbing his left temple to stave off the anticipated headache the call would likely generate, Gibbs replied tersely, "Tobias, what's so damn important that you had to call this early?"

He could almost hear his friend smirking victoriously through the phone.

"Jethro, please, I'm hurt. Can't a friend call to invite you to a nice breakfast? Your diner, my treat. Besides, we both know you're already halfway through a pot of coffee, so get your ass over here."

Gibbs' gut churned at the urgency in Fornell's voice. Fornell had news, big news, but Gibbs wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. Whatever it was it almost guaranteed a jurisdictional pissing contest or God-forbid a joint FBI/NCIS op. Silence prevailed for a few moments until Fornell cleared his throat.

"Look, Jethro, I found your boy. I found DiNozzo," Fornell announced in his more customary low key manner, all hint of teasing gone. "Just get over to the diner and I'll fill you in."

A dozen scenarios swirled around Gibbs' mind. What did Fornell mean by found him? Where? How? And more importantly, when? Was Tony okay or was he lying in a hospital bed somewhere, the victim of yet another misadventure? Had Tobias talked to him or seen him with his own eyes?

Gibbs jumped up and nearly stumbled over the coffee table. In his haste to open the gun safe, his fingers fumbled all over the numbered key pad resulting in four expletive-filled attempts to open it. Moments later, with his Sig finally freed and securely holstered to his hip, Gibbs pocketed his phone, shrugged into his coat, snatched his keys from the entryway table, and bolted out the door.

The earliest hues of dawn were beginning to break over the horizon as Gibbs turned the key in the ignition, bringing the throaty 427 under the Challenger's long, gleaming hood roaring to life. With the streets empty at that hour, he backed out of the driveway, dropped the clutch, and leaving an impressive cloud of tire smoke behind barreled down the street at his normal breakneck speed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Gibbs find Tony and bring him home?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Once again, my apologies for taking forever to update this. I could make a bunch of lame excuses (real life issues, work, too busy, etc.) but I won't. There is no excuse for keeping you hanging. Problem is; the lazy writers and show runner destroyed everything I loved about NCIS and the characters. I never made it all the way through MW's farewell episode and have only seen maybe one full episode (the one with Palmer out on the ledge) since Tony's absurd and nauseating departure. My hope is that this little story eases the sorrow for those of us heavily invested in Tibbs or just the NCIS team/family we all knew and loved for so many years – for whatever reason. Also, Tali may be Ziva's kid, but in my world she is NOT Tony's! 
> 
> Warning: Still no beta, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Disclaimer: The usual – I don't own the characters or places. I'm not making a dime off of this and no copyright infringement is intended.

After flashing his credentials at the Navy Yard guard house, Gibbs pulled into his customary parking space and switched off the ignition. Director Vance's gleaming black government-issued SUV occupied the reserved VIP parking space immediately to his left.

Leon Vance was one of only a handful of people that made a habit of reporting for duty before 0700 every day. Gibbs admired the fact that Vance chose to drive himself instead of being chauffeured, even though a car and driver was a perk that came with being the Director of a federal agency. Unless it was for an official event or travel, Vance threw off most of the customary trappings of his post. He preferred the freedom of being able to come and go as he pleased without the hassle of having to wait for his car and driver to be summoned. When alone, he also kept his personal security detail to a minimum, only agreeing to a full complement of security agents when Jackie and the kids accompanied him.

As the cooling engine ticked, Gibbs gently lifted his travel mug from the leather-wrapped custom console cup holder and brought it to his lips, tapping his index finger on the side while contemplating his next move. Scenes from his early morning breakfast meeting with Tobias Fornell played over in his mind.

* * *

Approaching the corner booth, Gibbs' eyes immediately fell upon his nemesis turned friend smirking at him over the rim of a chipped coffee cup. A contingent of regular early birds sat perched on their customary stools, which ran the length of the gleaming chrome-edged Formica counter. The din of random conversations among those gathered blended in with the clanking and occasionally breaking of dishes, the squeak of Elaine's sneakers on the tile floor, gruff calls of "order up" from the stainless steel order window, and the tell-tale ding of the bell over the door announcing the arrival of another customer. Gibbs mumbled a flippant "morning" to the few souls brave enough to address him directly at such an early hour as he passed by.

Something about Fornell's growing smirk was pushing all of Gibbs' buttons. In no mood for games or riddles or any bullshit that the FBI agent likely had locked and loaded in his arsenal, Gibbs slid onto the thickly padded bench seat across the table and glared at his friend.

"The usual, Gibbs?" Elaine, who seemed to appear out of nowhere, asked with an over-abundance of early morning good cheer as she turned over the coffee cup in front of Gibbs and filled it nearly to the brim. She topped off Fornell's cup for good measure.

"Yeah, sure. Thanks," Gibbs muttered.

"I'll just have what he's having," Fornell offered helpfully.

Elaine shook her head at the all-too familiar antics. "Bacon, scrambled eggs, hash browns, and pancakes for two coming right up," she announced with a wink at Gibbs before turning on her heel and retreating, not bothering to write down the orders.

Once they were alone, and after a brief stare down, Gibbs growled, "You just gonna sit there and stare at me, Tobias, or do you actually have something?"

Fornell held up a placating hand.

"Easy there, Jethro. Drink your coffee and I'll fill you in on what I know. Here, start with this," he said, tossing a thin manila folder across the table.

Slapping a hand down on the folder to keep it from flying off into oblivion, Gibbs opened it to find a series of candid color photographs of Tony. He swallowed hard. Damn.

Over the next hour, interrupted only by Elaine bringing their food and stopping by at regular intervals to check on them and top off their coffees, Fornell was able to fill in a few of the blanks that had been driving Gibbs crazy for months.

* * *

_While on what had promised to be a romantic weekend getaway to the Delaware coast, Fornell looked up from his dinner menu and caught sight of a solo Tony DiNozzo, the last person he would ever expect to see in this particular sleepy seaside town, perched on a tall bar stool nursing a frosty pilsner of beer._

_The layout of Difebo's Restaurant afforded a clear line of sight from Fornell's table to the bar. From his vantage point, he was able to covertly observe Tony over dinner and dessert. He used his phone to snap off a few candid photos, knowing that Gibbs wouldn't trust his word alone that he had discovered where his boy had been hiding out. Much to his surprise, Tony brushed off the unsolicited advances of a pair of strikingly beautiful women – one blonde, the other brunette. It wasn't easy keeping an eye on his mark while holding down a conversation with his would-be girlfriend, but he managed to stay well enough engaged. If Lorraine Hennings, Special Assistant to the Undersecretary for Homeland Security, was feeling in any way neglected she didn't let it show._

_Fornell's plan was a romantic dinner followed by a casual stroll on the moonlit beach to hopefully set the mood for a long adventurous night between the sheets with the rather fetching Ms. Hennings. His secondary mission was to keep a watchful eye on DiNozzo so he could report back to Gibbs. Tobias Fornell was no fool. He knew damn well that his future would include years of personal and professional misery if he failed to so report, and Gibbs found out._

_Whatever was going on in Gibbs' heart and mind these days, he had been involuntarily charged with sorting it all out. To hell with convention or evidence to the contrary, there was something between DiNozzo and Gibbs that needed to be set right. What that something was, Fornell was utterly clueless._

_It struck him that this version of Tony DiNozzo seemed markedly different than the one who had been a thorn in his side for the better part of a decade. Something about his carriage and demeanor was off. Gone were the fake disarming smiles, the confident and cocky swagger, and the frenetic energy he was known to possess. This Tony seemed at peace, settled, relaxed, and almost at ease. It was a good look on him._

* * *

By the time Elaine returned with the check, Gibbs was already out of his seat and champing at the bit. Fornell dug out his wallet and handed the check back to Elaine with plenty of cash to cover the bill and a generous tip.

"Keep the change," he offered.

"Why thank you, gentlemen," Elaine replied. "You boys have a good day."

Gibbs managed a crooked half smirk and a curt nod.

Amused by Gibbs' impatience, Fornell teased, "Okay, you have the information. You know where your boy is, or at least where he was last weekend. Now what are you gonna do about it?"

Gibbs squared his shoulders, attempting to convey more composure and confidence than he felt. From where he stood, the 20 feet to the door might was well have been 20 miles.

"I'm gonna go find him and drag his ass back here," Gibbs answered with a shrug before taking a step away from the table. Fornell's hand shot out and grabbed his forearm before he could make a clean escape. Gibbs shot back at him with a murderous glare.

"Do not fuck this up, Jethro! You've got one shot at making this, whatever this is, right. I know DiNozzo means a lot to you as a friend, a colleague, or whatever he is to you. I don't know. I have my suspicions, but that's a conversation for another time over something a hell of a lot stronger than coffee and pancakes. Whatever you did, you really let him down, you know. You hurt him, Jethro, so don't expect him to just run into your arms and forgive you. If you want him, I think you're gonna have to be ready to fight for him, and that means facing up to some pretty serious shit. Can you do that? Can you admit you fucked up?"

Gibbs' glare softened as guilt, remorse, and regret set in. After years of mutual disdain followed by a strange sort of kinship forged to fight a common enemy known as Diane, Fornell knew him too well. Any attempt to deflect or dissuade from the assumption that his feelings for Tony were anything but platonic or professional in nature would be a colossal waste of time.

Sensing Gibb's apparent surrender, or at least a little fight leaving him, Fornell released his grip. Gibbs sighed.

"Yeah. Whatever it takes. I was a bastard. I pushed him away. I know that. The team needs him, and, dammit, I need him. Nothing will be okay until he's back here where he belongs."

"Then go get him," Fornell replied, a genuine smile growing across his lips.

Gibbs hesitated for no more than a few seconds before bolting for the door. The "Thanks, Tobias, I owe you one," went unspoken.

* * *

Gibbs was startled back to the present by the throaty rumble of another car backing into a parking space further down the row. It was Abby. There was no mistaking her bright red roadster. Undetected, Gibbs watched as she climbed out of her car and headed off toward the NCIS main entrance. He waited crouched down in his seat for several minutes to make sure she had plenty of time to make it inside and clear lobby security. Gibbs slowly rose up in his seat and peered over the dash. Seeing Abby's lab light up through the sidewalk-level windows was his sign that it was now safe to go inside. He would need to talk to Abby about his eventual plans, whatever they ended up being, but he needed to talk to Leon Vance first.

Armed with his now half-full travel mug, Gibbs climbed out of his car and headed for the entrance. With any luck he would be able to meet with Vance, brief Bishop and McGee, hand out assignments, run home to pack, and still be on the road by mid-morning at the latest.

Fornell had given him a gift, and time was of the essence. Gibbs knew that the very idea of using his countless hours of accrued vacation time for an actual vacation would be met with shock, along with a healthy dose of skepticism, but any sustained grief would be worth it if he played his cards right. He had a chance to go to Tony, shatter Rule Six, and attempt to atone for his many professional and personal sins.

The team had just finished up a fairly routine case involving the theft and exchange of official military vehicles from the USMC motor pool at Quantico for drugs, leaving nothing to do except put the finishing touches on the obligatory paperwork. The timing for a little vacation couldn't be better, and Gibbs doubted that a request for a few days off would be met with much, if any, resistance.

As the case wound up, the latest agent brought in as a possible Tony replacement had been summarily dismissed by the team for, well, not being Tony. Ellie and McGee both found the impossibly green agent, a recent FLETC graduate, a strictly by-the-book-with-no-instincts kind of guy, lazy, sloppy, and outright annoying. Adhering to long-standing federal regulations and Gibbs' rules was one thing, but holding up an investigation because of a ridiculous new policy drafted by some random bureaucrat with nothing better to do didn't sit well with either of them. Ducky and Palmer were more diplomatic in their analysis, but each voiced grave concerns about his future as an investigator. Abby straight up hated him and wasn't shy about voicing her opinion. Trusting his team and taking all of their assessments into account, Gibbs vetoed the addition of Probationary Special Agent Paul Smith-Waterford III to his team.

"You're gonna have to pawn him off on someone else, Leon. I don't have time for this shit," Gibbs scolded as he shoved a shiny new personnel file folder into Vance's hand.

* * *

Strolling from the elevator into the empty bullpen, Gibbs stopped at Tony's abandoned desk and sighed. The muted light filtering in through the skylight and the double pane windows cast an eerie glow over the squad room. Some days Gibbs half expected to find Tony either hunched over a stack of files lost in the details of a case, or sprawled out precariously balanced on his chair, fast asleep with his feet up on his desk, arms hanging at his sides, and snoring softly, with the cold remnants of a late-night order lying scattered on one side of a large open pizza box.

Images of the latter brought back fond memories. He missed those simpler times; the early days back before the lines got blurred and politics took over. There were the countless times he had to referee petty sibling bickering between Kate and Tony, the addition of Tim McGee who was, until Paul Smith-Waterford III came long, quite possibly the greenest agent to have ever survived FLETC training, to the team, and the loss of Kate at Ari's murderous hand.

Even the chaos created when a certain Mossad liaison officer was foisted upon him brought back a mixed array of emotions; regret, anger, sorrow, and betrayal being most evident. Ziva David had confounded Gibbs almost from the day she first arrived on the scene. He never truly trusted her, certainly not the way he trusted Kate, Tony, or even McGee. He wanted to trust her, needed to trust her, but Ziva was a feral creature. It was how she was raised and how she had to be to survive as a young Israeli. There were a few good times during her years with the team, but Ziva had a penchant for playing games that on more than one occasion put lives in grave danger.

Left to his own devices, Tony managed to find enough trouble on his own. The young Italian was simply a trouble magnet. He had been beaten up on numerous occasions, was nearly blown up by Ari, was infected with the plague of all God-forsaken things, and generally put himself in harm's way more times than Gibbs could count, but it took Tony falling in love for longer than a weekend to wake him up to the truth.

What he had projected as annoyance with Tony's Monday morning recaps of his latest conquests was jealousy, pure and simple. Realizing that his feelings would never be reciprocated, Gibbs stoically shoved them down and locked them away. When it turned real, first with Jean Benoit then later with Zoe Keates, Gibbs could no longer ignore those feelings.

Gibbs had mixed feelings about leaving his SFA's chair empty, but he just couldn't picture anyone but Tony sitting there every day. The few agents brave enough to try out for the coveted open spot on "Team Gibbs" had each been relegated to the tiny, cramped, no frills cubicle behind Gibbs, where they were often ignored and all but forgotten during their short tenures.

"Morning, Gibbs," McGee greeted, breaking Gibbs from his thoughts. McGee placed the large to-go coffee he carried in on his desk then dropped his go bag into its customary place, in the corner on the floor behind his desk. Before he could pull out his chair and sit, Gibbs turned to him and announced, "McGee, when Bishop gets in tell her I want her report on my desk in one hour - yours too."

Perplexed by the rather odd greeting and sudden break for the stairs, McGee stammered, "Uh, sure thing Boss." He turned and watched as Gibbs climbed the stairs, taking them two at a time. There was something off about the man, but McGee had long ago given up trying to figure him out.

* * *

Vance looked up from the stack of reports and files in front of him, just in time to see his office door fly open. Cynthia, his trusted assistant, wouldn't be on station to direct traffic or announce Gibbs' arrival for at least another half an hour. Vance dropped the fountain pen in his hand onto the stack of papers to greet his unannounced intruder.

"And a good morning to you too, Agent Gibbs. To what do I owe this, umm, visit?" Vance grumbled as Gibbs took up a position standing at attention directly in front of his desk.

"I need a few days off, Leon," Gibbs replied, his tone flat and all business.  
Vance's eyebrows shot up at the unexpected request. He studied Gibbs' facial expression and body language for any helpful clues or tells, but as was typically the case Gibbs gave nothing away.

Folding his arms across his chest, Vance leaned back in his leather chair asked, "I know it's none of my business, but you requesting vacation time out of the blue like this makes me a bit nervous. You're either already in some sort of trouble or you're going to go out and look for it. So, which is it?"

Gibbs shifted his stance ever so slightly, tilted his head, and stared back at Vance. It was crystal clear that no verbal response would be forthcoming, so Vance held up a hand in surrender.

"Okay, you don't want to tell me why you need time off, fine. I'm giving you two weeks, starting right now." He knew that Gibbs would go nuts with that much down time, so he did his best to make it sound like a direct order; not that Gibbs would obey it.

Gibbs nodded curtly and strode for the door without protest. Grasping the door handle, he slowly turned back to face Vance.

"I got some information on DiNozzo. Found out where he might be holed up. I'm, uh, gonna see if I can talk him into coming back, that's all. Probably as waste of time, but I owe him a chance to tell me to go to hell."

Vance nodded. The last couple of years had been contentious to say the very least. Nerves were frazzled and egos had taken quite a beating. He had his own share of regrets, a lot of them where DiNozzo was concerned. From the commendations in Tony's jacket, to his reputation and the level of respect he garnered from agents across sister agencies where jurisdiction often crossed, and from his own observations over the past several years, Vance knew he had let a high value agency asset get away. Agent Anthony DiNozzo, for all of his sophomoric behavior at times, was a consummate professional when it came to the job. He got results and made Vance look damn good in the eyes of his superiors. On a more personal level, the quiet support and respect that Agent DiNozzo had shown him after the murder of his beloved wife, deserved reciprocation, not dismissal.

"Uh huh. Well, I wish you luck with that, Gibbs," Vance said. "Two weeks. Bring him back if you can. He's a damn good agent and we need him. If you can’t, well, then give him my best."

* * *

Gibbs skipped down the stairs to find McGee and Ellie huddled at McGee's desk comparing notes on the case. Seeing Gibbs descend the stairs and make a beeline for his desk, Ellie scampered over to her own leaving McGee to start feverishly typing.

"Good morning, Gibbs," Ellie chirped while nervously tucking long strands of blond hair behind her ears. Her cheerful expression morphed into one of confusion as Gibbs gathered up his badge, gun, and go bag.

"We got another case, Boss?" McGee asked.

Gibbs came around his desk and stood before his two perplexed agents.

"Nope, I'm going out of town for a few days, maybe a week. I need the two of you to take on some cold cases or take some time off yourselves. God knows, you've both earned it."

"You, taking vacation?" McGee stammered.

"Well, yeah McGee, I am. If you must know, I got some intel this morning. I may have a lead on where Tony is."

After a brief but excited exchange with McGee and Ellie, followed by an emotional good-bye in Abby's lab complete with stern instructions from Ducky to "bring dear young Anthony home", Gibbs made his way home to pack. With no idea how long he'd be gone he threw several changes of clothes into a large nylon gym bag along with his toiletry kit.

By the time he backed out of the driveway a short while later, with only his gym bag riding shotgun to keep him company, Gibbs knew he had chosen the right course of action. Turning onto US-50 East, and determined to knock at least an hour or better off of the three-hour travel time, Gibbs smashed the accelerator to the floor.

* * *

Tony hugged his knees to his chest and looked out over the vast expanse of ocean. White-capped waves rolled in, breaking several yards out from the sandy beach that seemed to stretch for miles along the Atlantic coast. Having just finished a three-mile run, he dropped down on the sand to catch his breath. The clean, fresh, salty air filled his lungs.

Dropping his head back and closing his eyes, Tony let the serenity of the morning wash over him. He felt a sense of calm that had eluded him most of his adult life. Here, in this little tucked away place, no one demanded anything of him and he was free to do as he pleased. For once, he truly felt he was at home and at peace with life and with himself.

Bethany Beach, Delaware, a picturesque resort town with just enough old world charm located a relaxing drive from the hustle and bustle of Washington, D.C. had been his home for the past two months. The sleepy coastal town was coming to life as the late-morning sun rose higher in the eastern sky. With the summer vacation season in full swing, each day brought more and more tourists flocking to the resorts scattered up and down the coast.

Tony had landed in Bethany Beach after escaping D.C. to find himself. With no specific destination in mind, he hit the open road, sojourning as far south as South Carolina before heading back north, toward where he didn't know. Leaving his regularly-scheduled life was the hardest thing he had ever done, but it was a matter of his survival. Instead of seeing the world with a jaded investigator's eye, he saw it through the lens of a camera. His laptop was filled with photographs of everything from a single wildflower discovered blooming in a rocky roadside outcrop, morning fog lifting from dew-covered manicured horse paddocks found sprinkled along dusty country roads, to panoramic sunrises and sunsets from various locales up and down the coast. People, places, and random things all told a story.

No matter where he stopped on his journey, Tony found himself drawn to the quaint, quiet towns off the beaten path where the people were genuine and no one was in a big hurry to get rid of him. He soaked up tales told over morning diner coffee by locals whose family histories dated back to well before the Civil War. Tony had been invited into countless homes to stay as long as he wanted or needed; each one renewing his tattered spirit.

He usually only stayed in one place for a couple of days before moving on, but he found himself charmed to his very soul by the residents of Bethany Beach. He had been welcomed into the fold and was talked into checking into the Addy Sea Bed & Breakfast on the waterfront for an extended stay. The Addy Sea was a Victorian mansion filled with antique furnishing overlooking the ocean. It was both elegant and rustic with its original tin ceilings and rich varnished and polished woodwork.

What the Addy Sea lacked in modern technology it more than made up for with old-world charm. Paying in advance for a whole month, with a negotiated option for a second, Tony checked into Room 10 located on the third floor. Even after charming the owner/manager into renting him the premium room for the discounted standard room rate, it was pricey but worth it. His room was appointed with a king-sized bed, a comfortable seating area that afforded spectacular views of the ocean out large double-pane windows, and a luxurious private bath with spa tub and shower. The downside was that there was no room service and no TV. The local library and quaint little bookstore in town chock full of adventures to be read provided Tony with suitable entertainment and escape.

The boardwalk, the focal point of social activity, and surrounding commercial district were home to a wide variety of shops, restaurants, bars, and one very popular video arcade. The bay offered fishing, jet skis, boating, windsurfing, and water skiing. Concerts on the boardwalk bandstand were regular events as were Friday night movie screening. There was literally something for everyone.

With the Fourth of July weekend just two days away, every home and business was draped with red, white, and blue bunting. American flags of all sizes sprang up everywhere. The town was a picture of classic Americana at its finest. Final preparations were underway for what promised to be a spectacular fireworks display to close out a day of sun and fun. Tony couldn't help but find himself caught up in the excitement. He just wished he had someone to share it with.

It’s not like there wasn't a veritable smorgasbord of bikini-clad beauties to choose from on any given day, but Tony simply wasn't interested. He had quit partaking in the nightclub scene after only a week. It had become the same old routine every night. Same drinks, same music, and even the women all started to look the same. Instead, he opted to settle in for a few hours of reading before turning in for a good night's sleep.

Tony suddenly sensed a presence, one that was both familiar and terrifying. He didn't need to ask who was casting the long shadow over him; he knew damn well who it was.

"Son of a bitch," Tony thought. He wasn't angry, not really. In all honestly, he wasn't all that surprised that he'd been found.

He chuckled and halfway cracked open one eye, which found two blue ones gazing intently back at him over the top of mirrored aviator shades.

"Took you long enough," Tony snarked good-naturedly. He opened both eyes and took in the vision standing before him. His heart skipped a beat.

Gibbs was still an imposing figure despite his chosen attire – faded and frayed cut off denim shorts, a plain navy blue t-shirt, and, bless his little heart, a well-worn pair of Birkenstock sandals. Except for the obvious lack of anything remotely resembling a tan, Gibbs could almost pass for a standard issue beach dweller.

The current fashion statement was a far cry from the suits Tony had almost become accustomed to seeing his former boss decked out in. This version of the man looked like a cross between weekend yard work Gibbs and bourbon and boat in the basement Gibbs. Tony found this new version as fascinating as he did confusing.

"Mind if I join you?" Gibbs asked before dropping down on the sand next to Tony.

"Knock yourself out," Tony retorted.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Gibbs stated, "It's really beautiful here."

Tony nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, it really is."

After a moment he posed a question he wasn't sure he wanted Gibbs to answer.

"Why are you here, Gibbs?"

Gibbs gave a non-committal shrug.

"Fornell was here last weekend with some new lady friend and saw you. I just found out this morning. I put McGee and Bishop on cold cases, told Vance I was taking some vacation time, got scolded by Ducky and yelled at by Abby, went home, threw some clothes in a bag, and here I am."

A somewhat shocked and wide-eyed Tony stared at Gibbs. After months of being incommunicado, for Gibbs to drop everything to hunt for him was simply astonishing. Tony took a drink from his nearly empty water bottle before attempting to speak. His throat felt as dry as the crystalline sand surrounding him.

"Wow, okay … but why? I mean, it's been months. Hell, I figured everyone had forgotten about me by now."

The urge to deliver a long-overdue head slap was overwhelming, but Gibbs managed to resist. He owed Tony words, even if they were more terse and biting than he intended. Gibbs balled his hands into fists in an attempt to tamp down his growing aggravation.

"DiNozzo, I would have come after you the day you walked out, but you disappeared without a trace. You left both of you cell phones behind, no forwarding address, you disabled the GPS in your car, and you're obviously traveling with a pile of cash since there haven’t been any hits on your bank accounts or credit cards. Trust me; Abby and McGee have hacked into everything they can think of trying to find you. Airports, train stations, bus stations, and about a thousand hotels. Not sure if they've gotten around to checking jails or hospitals yet. Hell, Palmer and Bishop even took turns for a while staking out your apartment building in case you showed up."

Seeing a look of contrition cross Tony's face, Gibbs softened his tone. "Tony, everyone has been worried sick about you – including me".

Tony sat gob-smacked. The look of concern, sadness, and dare he say affection set in Gibbs' eyes was almost too much. He swallowed down the growing lump in his throat.

Turning his focus to a random spot out on the horizon, Tony replied timidly, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset or worry anyone. I thought I explained everything in my letters."

After a few seconds Tony's eyes suddenly went impossibly wide as the drunken confessions he made in his letter to Gibbs flooded into his mind. Confessions, of course, he never would have made in a million years had he thought there was a chance in hell he'd come face to face with Gibbs. Oh Dear God!

"Oh shit, Gibbs," Tony stammered. He attempted to jump to his feet to beat a hasty retreat, but found his wrist held fast in Gibbs' grasp.

"DiNozzo … Tony, sit," Gibbs implored. "Please."

Tony did as requested, though he left a fair bit more distance between them. Eyeing Gibbs nervously, Tony searched for the words he needed to say.

"Gibbs, about that letter. Jesus, just forget everything I wrote. I was drunk when I wrote it. I mean …"

"Tony!" Gibbs barked. "It's okay. Drunk or not, I'm glad you wrote it. That's why I'm here. That's why I had to come looking for you – once I found out where the hell you ran off to. I think we should talk about it."

Tony rolled his eyes and snorted. "Talk? You? Yeah, not really your strong suit. Gibbs, I've been trying to get you to talk to me for over a year. What's changed? Why now?"

Not getting an immediate response, Tony looked straight at Gibbs with hurt flashing in his eyes. He held up his hands in mock surrender.

"You know what, forget it. Doesn't matter. I don't know what we could possibly have to talk about anyway. From what Palmer's told me, you're all getting along fine without old Tony to kick around. And I'm fine. I've moved on. Sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here, Gibbs. Tell everyone hello for me. See 'ya."

Tony jumped to his feet, dusted sand from the seat of his running shorts, and turned toward the boardwalk. He didn't make it more than two steps before Gibbs' soft-spoken words stopped him dead in his tracks.

"I miss you, Tony. I want you to come home. I need you."

Tony threw his head back and laughed. The absurd notion that Gibbs, of all people, needed him was preposterous. It was time to vent and unleash an overdue cathartic release. Tony raged. He paced, kicking sand in every direction, as he tried to find purchase to stand his ground and to for once be heard.

"You need me; for what? Seems like now that McGee is your SFA everything is how you and Vance have always wanted it. I hear you're basically holding tryouts to replace me. Guess I should be flattered by that, at least. I gave you years, Gibbs, my best years, and in return I got nothing. I put my life on the line for you – more than once, and for what? Not even an 'atta boy, DiNozzo' or 'thanks for saving my life, Tony'. Oh sure, you never missed a chance to smack me for screwing up – even when I didn't do anything wrong – but God forbid you or anyone else recognize any of the good things I've done."

Gibbs sat before him motionless and expressionless. Out of breath and on the verge of angry tears, Tony waved a dismissive hand and started walking toward the boardwalk. Suddenly, he felt himself grabbed and spun around. Expecting to find a pair of pissed off, steely blue eyes glaring at him, he instead found sad, desperate eyes searching his.

"Dammit!" Gibbs growled, his fingers digging into Tony's biceps as he held him fast. The famous Gibbs control was slipping fast.

"Don't run away from me. Please! I'm sorry, for everything. Just let me explain. Can we please just talk? Then, if you want, I'll leave. Please, Tony?"

Tony's brow furrowed. One way or another, Gibbs showing up and apologizing meant that his life was about to change in a profound way. He would either end up truly alone in the world, or he could end up with everything he had been dreaming of for longer than he could remember. Tony brushed sand from his watch and noted the time.

"Wow! You either left DC at the ass crack of dawn or you drove 100 miles an hour to get here," Tony exclaimed. Gibbs just cracked a crooked grin in response.

Tony shrugged then nodded in the direction of the boardwalk.

"There's a great little place up there, right on the boardwalk. The Turtle Beach Café. I'm sure you could use a cup of coffee – or two. And they have great coffee, by the way. Best around. I'm going back to my place, take a shower and change. Wait there. I'll come find you when I'm ready to talk. Maybe we can grab some lunch or something. But Gibbs, don't expect too much."

With an involuntary jerk of his chin, Gibbs nodded his understanding. He didn't deserve or expect anything, but he still held out hope. It's all he had. Whatever would happen would be on Tony's terms, not his.


End file.
